As I reached the top of the hill, the finish line came into view like a mirage in the distance. The fierce June sun baked the pavement, making each step feel like I was trudging through a desert. Sweat streamed down my back, and as I approached the finish, I chanted my mental mantra, “Left, Right, Repeat,” pushing through to the end of my very first 5K. As I got closer, I spotted my partner and kids cheering me on, and my heart swelled with pride, knowing they were witnessing my hard work pay off.
I crossed the finish line, panting like a dog after a long chase, and immediately scanned the crowd for my family. Our eyes locked, and my son shouted, “Awesome job, Mom! Just a heads up, you didn’t win!” This elicited laughter from the spectators around us. Ah, the brutal honesty of kids—nothing like it to keep you grounded!
I didn’t embrace running until later in life. Sure, I had a brief stint on my high school track team, but my Olympic dreams fizzled when I realized that gold medals come at a steep price—lots of running! A few laps around campus to work off pizza slices were my only nod to fitness until I became a mom in my late 20s. That’s when I realized my “mom hips” needed more than just sprinting up the stairs if I wanted to fit into my yoga pants long-term.
Luckily, my community offered a fantastic program focused on women’s health and wellness, culminating in a 5K race. Trust me, as a mom of toddlers, the thought of running three miles seemed far more appealing than tackling potty training or managing sippy cups.
Thus, I found myself shivering alongside other moms on a chilly Tuesday evening in March. Our instructor led our first workout, and let me tell you: my body jiggled in ways I didn’t know existed, and I huffed and puffed like a character from a fairy tale. It was slightly mortifying, but week after week, I bonded with several participants, fueled by our shared struggles and love for the occasional expletive. I felt like I had found my tribe.
Over the next 12 weeks, I committed to my training, fitting in “homework” workouts and wrangling favors from friends to babysit. I nurtured my sore muscles, invested in a top-notch sports bra (because, you know, “the ladies” need support), and splurged on a quality pair of running shoes. Each week, I huffed a little less, and the jiggle became less embarrassing too. I still dropped the F-bomb here and there, though.
When I completed that graduation race, I felt like an absolute rockstar. Sure, I didn’t take first place, but thankfully I didn’t come in last either. Even if I had, I would have still felt victorious because I showed up and did it.
For the first time as a mother, I prioritized myself, and it was a high I never anticipated. I was proud of taking charge of my physical and mental well-being to be the best mom possible for my two little ones demanding so much of me during the day.
No, I didn’t win that race, and eight years into my running journey, I still haven’t claimed a single victory. I’ve never stood atop a podium or received a shiny “First Place” medal. But I keep lacing up my shoes without hesitation. I still love it.
Winning can take many forms, and as mothers, we must recognize the victories we achieve in navigating the challenges of motherhood, both on and off the track. I am a winner because I have friends who text me, “I’m running tomorrow. You’ve had a tough week. You should join me.”
I am a winner because I’ve completed six marathons, with a seventh on the horizon, and I humor myself that the first-place finisher only won because he feared I’d catch up. I’m a winner because I’ve run through cities across the U.S., taking in the breathtaking views that can only be appreciated on foot. I’m also a winner because when my daughter lamented her basketball team’s 0-12 record, I could honestly tell her that winning isn’t everything. We talked about the importance of showing up for yourself and your team, and how sometimes losing teaches us what truly matters in life.
Ultimately, I know I’m a winner because when I look in the mirror, I see more than just a mom. I see a strong, independent badass setting an example for my kids. And I see a woman who doesn’t feel guilty about enjoying an extra glass of wine or bowl of ice cream. That feeling is worth its weight in gold.